


Squeaky Clean

by breakingwho



Series: Let It Happen [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blowjobs, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Frustrated John, M/M, did i say fluff sorry it turned to smut, smelly sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakingwho/pseuds/breakingwho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock takes longer on a case than he would have liked to and afterwards, he spends almost a week moping around the flat. </p><p>And in that week he goes nowhere near a shower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Squeaky Clean

It was a long two weeks. Longer than Sherlock would have liked working on a case especially when apparently it ended up being so obvious. Sherlock became moody and agitated and short with any breathing shell harboring a dull mind who came within a mile of him when he hadn't solved it after only three days of receiving a call from Lestrade. 

Sherlock was still moody, agitated, and short which put John in a fairly sour mood as well. He couldn't get him to eat, he couldn't get him to sleep, and let's not even start with the hygiene.

"A warm shower and a nice cuppa will take your bloody annoying mood away." John had said the day after a case solved. Sherlock grunted, turning his silked clothed back to John on the couch. 

That was last Wednesday. It was now the next Friday.  
John, being a certified doctor, stressed and fretted on how Sherlock was not a stiff corpse by now, which at the same time made him laugh because that would mean he'd had to of snuck a snack or two within the week. Probably in the middle of the night when his stomach reached a distraction even Sherlock couldn't block while inside his mind palace.  
It amused John to imagine his friend reluctantly ripping the fridge open, groaning at the contents, then settling on shoving maybe some bread down his throat. Always an amusing image for him.

However, John isn't so amused anymore. Not in the slightest. No extent of silly imagination would amuse this ex-army doctor now. 

The telly was on, mostly as background noise while John read and Sherlock tapped his fingers on the arm of his leather chair. John flicked his tongue across the tip of his right pointer finger and turned the page. He grunted, shifting to his left side as the right half of his bum was falling asleep and ached. Sherlock's toes now tapped at the hardwood, oddly making it sound as if each individual toe took its turn making contact with the floor. He exhaled and let his body melt and awkwardly morph into the shape of the chair as he slouched.

"You stink." John didn't even look up from his book.

Sherlock's monotonous voice lazily pushed from his throat making his tone sound lower and rougher, "wonderful."

John's lips tightly pursed, an obvious sign on how continually unamused he was. He bent the corner of page 87 in his book and set it on the table beside him. "Get up."

Sherlock's eyes were closed, not dozing, but just closing the blinds on the windows of his palace and he shrugged for half a second.

"Sherlock, I'm not shitting with you. You smell and you need a bath."

"Why." He kept his eyes closed.

"So I don't have a flatmate growing fungus on himself."

"That's entirely impossible, John, unless I was unconscious, buried in the ground, and kept moist in a warm climate."

Right, of course Sherlock knows how to grow mold on himself.

John sighed, almost sounding ready to surrender and Sherlock held back a smirk in his success.

Actually a good thing he didn't smirk like an ass because John was far from surrendering as he took three brusque steps to a halt right in front of Sherlock. Through eyelashes, the pile of stench looked up at John. John's arms were crossed over his wool covered chest and from the angle Sherlock was viewing him from, well, it looked far from intimidating. Adorable? His nostrils were flared and lips like a ducks bill. This time Sherlock did smirk, and quietly chuckled. Woops.

A callused hand gripped at Sherlock's forearm and he was forced to his feet with a jerk of John's arm. He was then shoved in front of the shorter man and was being pushed to move in the direction of the bathroom. Sherlock, being a stubborn git, relaxed all his muscles and let himself lean entirely on John's palms like a plank of wood.

John swore under his breath at himself for not seeing this coming as it isn't the first time Sherlock has done this. 

"Move." John shifted all his weight forward.

"No." Sherlock's heels dug into the floor.  
The two were standing there, in the middle of the sitting room, in an evenly weighted position like a mid trust fall. And if you were to take a photo of them from the side, the space between John's arms and Sherlock's straight back would make a triangle.

John's hands then shifted so one was holding him up between the shoulder blades and the other pinched at his lower back. Sherlock jolted, flinched, and put more weight on John's solo arm. He pinched again, only with more frustration and right onto Sherlock's left bum cheek.

"Stop that." Sherlock, trying not to squeak, swatted at John.

Too bad John was stubborn too. He then pinched harder causing Sherlock to remove his weight from John's arm in a jerky jump forward. He rubbed his cheek but John wasn't finished as he then used both hands for pinching. They continued repeatedly and aggressively but successfully getting Sherlock to the bathroom.

\---

The water was lukewarm at most and quickly filling the tub. John didn't want to make it too hot in fear of Sherlock passing out due to the lack of nutrition fueling his body. By the time John stood straight from bending over the tub faucet and turned, wiping his damp fingers on his jeans, Sherlock was obediently naked.

"You could have waited until I left." John exerted almost all the strength he had to keep his eyes on Sherlock's, and only Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock was unfazed by the fact that his best friend was standing in front of his naked body, trying so adorably hard to not let his eyes stray from his face. In fact, he looked bored. Sherlock sighed and climbed into the tub the moment he felt a chill nip at his skin. He sat opposite the faucet and slid into the water, arms hanging over the sides. He sighed again and watched the bubbles and ripples he created float to the other end.

Sherlock lifted his chin so he could talk. "Join me." He breathed without looking at John.

"No." He subconsciously licked his lower lip and placed his hands on his hips, "why would I even-"

"You'd have left by now."

"What?"

"Stupid question." Sherlock muttered before continuing, "you would have left the room by now if you did not have even the slightest interest in watching me bathe. When you turned to face me, your breath hitched and you blinked more than you typically do under a minute. Clearly trying to keep your focus on only my face. You grinded your teeth, a distraction for your mind to not think about anything other than looking at only my face."

John put a hand up in protest and squeezed his eyes shut. "Sherlock-"

"You could have looked, John." Sherlock now stared at his friend. "I know I'm not entirely unappealing and you know it, too."

"Okay," the hand symbolizing a failed protest now pinched at the bridge of his nose. "But what makes you think I want to join you in the bath?"

"Well, what makes you think once you leave I won't immediately get out of the tub without properly washing myself at all?"

John stuttered for a sentence then groaned. He wasn't thinking properly as he grabbed the back of his jumper to pull it off his body. Next came his trousers and he toed off his shoes to slip his feet out of the denim legs. "The pants stay on."

"As you wish." Sherlock exhaled, a bit annoyed he wouldn't have a completely nude John in the bath with him. Though, he was wearing his briefs bolded in a harsh red that Sherlock loved to catch a peak at whenever he bent over at crime scenes.

John climbed in, dipping a big toe under the water first, forgetting he didn't make the water too hot then climbed in completely. He sat between Sherlock's ankles since god forbid the bastard made room, and hugged his knees to his chest, doing his best to ignore the prodding the faucet was giving on his back.

"I'm not sitting in here forever. Start washing." John spoke, glaring at Sherlock from across the tub.

"Don't look so grumpy, John. And you're not wet enough." John cocked an eyebrow trying to understand the reasoning for Sherlock even caring how soaked he was. Sherlock then moved his foot to the faucet behind John and flicked the knob up with his toe.

"Wh-" the shower head turned on and the heavy strings of ice cold water fell directly on John. "For fucks sake!" He twisted and slammed his hand on the knob, cutting the water off.

When he turned back to face Sherlock and scold him, he saw something he'd thought he'd never see in a million years. Sherlock was laughing. Now, yes Sherlock has chuckled and smiled around John but never laughed. His head was bowed and his chin bounced off his chest as his body seemed to vibrate with laughter.

John honestly couldn't help but to smile at this. His voice was even considerably happier when he spoke. "Cmon it wasn't that funny, you prick." John stuffed his hands under the water to bring them back up, splashing water in Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock looked up with a tight lipped smile, cheeks red and a clump of curly hair stuck between his brows. Sherlock handled things as a child would typically handle things and splashed back.

John covered his face with his bicep and tilted back, slamming into the metal. A sharp pain struck and jolted up his spine, cutting off a swear. John bit his tongue and blinked threatening tears away.

Let's face it, blunt things hitting dead center of your back hurt like hell.

"Maybe if you weren't sitting so close to it." Sherlock grunted and gripped John's calves, dragging him closer between his thighs. He sat forward now, his feet flat on the tub floor and knees bent, trapping John's shoulders. If it weren't for the way John was sitting, their groins might have been touching. Sherlock's posture straightened and he wrapped his lanky arms around John's neck.

"Sher-"  
Almost said person quickly closed the gap between their mouths. This, John didn't protest. He wanted to but he also wanted to tear his friends lips off. Whether he means that sexually or literally, he wasn't sure but as Sherlock's slim fingers slid up his neck, into his damp hair to make the closed lipped kiss deeper, he discovered exactly what he meant.

John was like a statue; knees still held to his chest by his arms and every muscle was tense. He felt like a boy again. Sherlock deduced that all too easily and John had a feeling he would. The fingers laced in his hair moved to the sides of John's face so that his ears were shaped perfectly between his thumbs and pointer. John realized he'd been holding his breath and cracked his mouth open ajar for air which Sherlock greedily took advantage of and slipped his tongue inside. His hands grasped tighter at John's face and was delighted to feel John's tongue wrestle for dominance. 

None of that, thought Sherlock, and he broke the kiss. John was breathing heavily, happy for air, sad for the lack of tongue.

"Move." Sherlock twisted his body so he could flick the drain under the faucet. The tub made a gurgle when the water was finished falling into the tiny slits. John was now occupying Sherlock's spot, knees apart, elbows resting on the edges of the tub. He hasn't said a word to indicate for Sherlock to continue, but also nothing that made him want to stop either. Though, it was obvious what John wanted by the prominent bulge almost pulsing against his red pants.

Sherlock crawled, not very much, towards John until their noses tickled each other. "I love when you wear those."

"When have you ever seen me wear these?" John wet his own bottom lip, anxious.

"Crime scenes. When you bend over," Sherlock's breath ghosted over John's mouth, "you have no idea how badly I want to, when I see them teasingly peak from behind your jeans, how badly I just want to wrap my arms around you and pull your perfect arse against my prick to show you how hard you make me."

When John exhaled, it was shaky and he felt his cock jump then ache from being cruelly trapped. "God..." His eyes closed, that image of Sherlock grinding his groin to his arse in front of everyone was playing behind his eyelids.  
"You have a filthy mouth." John huffed now staring into Sherlock's pupils, examining his own reflection.

"You don't know the half of it." Sherlock twitched one corner of his mouth as his hands made work to tug John's cold, damp pants off and dropped them outside the tub.  
John let him, even lifting his hips to help. His erection tapped at his abdomen, just a hair from reaching his navel.

"Just how I imagined it." Sherlock ran the tip of his pointer up the shaft, feeling John shiver. Beautiful.

"You've...imagined me before." 

"Countless times." He wrapped his fingers around John's prick to easily stroke upwards since they were still a bit wet from the bath. John's inhale was sharp as he sucked on his bottom lip. His hips almost jerked up with Sherlock's hand for more friction. God he needed this. His own hands and cheesy porn just wasn't doing it anymore.  
"You haven't been able to get off in almost three weeks."

"And you think you're an angel for doing it for me in a bathtub."

"Oh, no, I think you're an angel for letting me." They both laughed and Sherlock pecked John's lips once before moving his hand again. His lips traveled to John's jawline then neck, nipping at it, then to his collarbone where he left a satisfying bruise. He made it down to his bellybutton where his tongue dipped to scoop out the water, now mixing with some perspiration. He kissed the head of John's cock, orbiting his tongue around it while pulling the foreskin down.

John let out a faint moan and it was now his turn to lace fingers into Sherlock's hair. He tightened his grip as Sherlock wrapped his lips around John's cock and took no time to hallow his cheeks and take him completely, his nose touching the hairs crowning his prick.

"Oh, Jesus fuck." John rocked his hips, not daring to take his eyes away from this magnificent sight. The day was finally here. The day where he'd look down at his cock fucking Sherlock's beautifully, swollen, pink lips with that impossibly sexy cupids bow. The day John never thought he wanted so bad and is now reveling in the moment. 

Sherlock felt John's fingers yanking his hair to keep him still so that he was in control. It hurt his scalp but he'd be lying if he said the pain didn't feel so goddamn good. Sherlock moaned around John at the thought of hurting and giving a blowjob. The walls of his throat acted as the perfect vibration for stimulation and John held his breath, feeling that warm bubbling in the pit of his stomach and the sudden tightness of his testicles. There was a sharp heat that raced right under John's skin and, sadly, forced Sherlock's mouth off him.  
"Christ, your mouth alone can make me cum."

"So why did you remove me?" Sherlock lifted up so he was on his hands and knees again, face an inch from John's. He arched his back so his neglected erection was rubbing against John's deprived one and brushed his lips over John's. 

John could smell himself in Sherlock's breath as well as mint. Well, at least he'd been brushing his teeth. He mashed their mouths together, it immediately being a gasping, teeth clanking kiss.  
"I didn't-" Sherlock cut him off with his tongue, "want to.." John pecked Sherlock's lips, "you know- in your mouth."

"You didn't want to cum in my mouth." Sherlock, as always, making things blunt. "Don't be childish, John, we're both adults here. We're both clean adults."

"How do you kn- never mind." John sighed through his nose and brushed some wild curls from Sherlock's forehead, only to have them bounce back to their original place. "Whatever's your cuppa tea." 

With that Sherlock smiled with a closed mouth, kissed John real quick, then returned to his snacking just as quick. John realized, horribly slow, that poor Sherlock hasn't been getting any attention. But Sherlock should be thankful enough that John's letting him touch him while he was still technically unbathed.

"Oh god, Sherlock, I'm -shit, ah- sorry but you have to get yourself off -mmn, yes- touch yourself."  
Sherlock didn't disagree, he kind of understood the state of his hygiene but couldn't help to be a little annoyed. Oh well, that just means he owes Sherlock.

"I'm fine." Was muffled due to him still swallowing John's cock. He bobbed his head at a tauntingly slow pace, making sure his tongue tasted every inch dripping with pre-cum. There were slurping sounds exiting from that filthy mouth and John couldn't handle it. He cupped Sherlock's ears and began to thrust himself in and out of that warm mouth. 

"Oh, g- I'm gonna cum Sherlock fuckyesohmygod..!" John released into Sherlock's mouth and let out an awfully shaky breath as he watched the lunatic swallow it all then proceed to lap up what he missed. His tongue darted out, circling around his mouth to catch any sticking to the corner of it. John tasted perfect, Sherlock thought. It was still that typical bitter, salty taste but maybe just the fact that this was John Watson made him taste like ecstasy. He leaned into John for a kiss, knowing he'll never know how different from others that he tastes. Because John isn't dull. John is warm, kind, and filled with a drug Sherlock is now addicted to

**Author's Note:**

> My first smut fic to be uploaded! I usually write smut a lot but just in journals to blow off some steam. Hope you enjoyed!


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